


if your hope should pass away

by catfishCaper



Category: Batman - All Media Types, The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - The Umbrella Academy (TV) Fusion, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst, Basically all angst, Batman: A Death in the Family, Blood, Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, Canonical Child Abuse, Car Accidents, Child Death, Freezing to death, Gen, Jason Todd-centric, Jewish Bruce Wayne, Murder, Out of Body Experiences, So much angst, Stillbirth, Temporary Character Death, Torture, Unreliable Narrator, cameos from the cast of umbrella academy, even the happy parts are not that happy, is bruce wayne a good parent? well he's better than reginald hargreeves, jason is plotting his emo revenge quest listening to boulevard of broken dreams, the major character death is jason, there are some funny parts?, this all takes place in the 90s and early 2000s, tim and cass are there as well briefly but i didn't want to tag them
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-16
Updated: 2021-02-16
Packaged: 2021-03-17 05:40:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,711
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29466636
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/catfishCaper/pseuds/catfishCaper
Summary: Jason Todd is born on October 1, 1989. This wouldn’t be so remarkable if his mother had actually been pregnant prior to this.
Relationships: Jason Todd & Bruce Wayne
Comments: 2
Kudos: 40





	if your hope should pass away

**Author's Note:**

> title from "Hazy Shade of Winter"
> 
> please take the tags into account, especially the "Graphic Depictions of Violence" and "Major Character Death" warnings. jason dies a lot and it doesn't go well for him
> 
> some characters, you love them and you want to make their lives better. and some, you love them and so you want to hurt them. jason is the latter for me
> 
> there are some parts in this that are taken directly from the comics (ethiopia and the last scene) but i didn't want to copy what happened there wholesale so i just kind of...streamlined it into my own words

On the morning of October 1st, 1989, Sheila Haywood was late for work.

She had woken up on time, performed her morning rituals (shower, hair combing, tooth brushing, etc.), but was interrupted on her way to the bus by her water breaking. This was especially unusual because she had not been pregnant when she woke up that morning.

Rather than calling 911 (ambulances were quite expensive and there were rumors they charged more for coming to her neighborhood), she locked herself up in her apartment and called in sick to work, claiming she had a fever of 103. She nearly gave up the ghost when a contraction came while on the phone, but she powered through it.

A mere two hours later, the contractions were so close together she couldn’t tell if there was any time between them, and she felt an overwhelming, primal urge to _push._ So, she did, right there in her bathtub. What felt like an eternity later, a head the size of a grapefruit with dark hair covered in gore appeared, followed shortly by the rest of a body. She had delivered a baby. A boy!

But there was something wrong. His cheeks were blue, and he had not cried out when he met the morning air. There was a faint mark about the size of his umbilical cord around his neck. Sheila’s heart caught in her throat, and she did the only thing she could think to: she administered CPR.

Sheila didn’t know that performing CPR on a baby was actually somewhat different than on a fully grown human, but she did know there were compressions and breaths. She rearranged the two of them in the bathtub so she knelt by the drain with him in front of her, and she started to press on his chest.

This is MY child, she thought to herself, and he will NOT die before I even have a chance to decide what to do with him.

Just as she thought that, like magic, the baby’s wide blue eyes opened, and he took a breath. She pumped on his chest a few more times until he began to scream. Despite his earlier issues, he did have quite the pair of lungs on him. She got up from the bathtub, found a pair of scissors in the kitchen, and cut the cord on his belly button. All the while, he cried. Did they always cry this much? What a pain. She wrapped him in her oldest towel and sat back down in the bathtub, exhausted. As he cried in her arms, all she could feel was relief that she’d managed to save his life. Having a dead baby suddenly appear in her apartment would cause _way_ too much suspicion.

What Sheila Haywood did not know that it was not, in fact, _her_ that had saved his life.

* * *

A bit later, after finally calming down and feeding the baby, Sheila realized she couldn’t keep the thing. Her career was finally taking off, she was free of the awful man she had been dating before, and…

That was it. Willis Todd. He was the last man she’d been with, so all of this was halfway _his_ fault. And she’d heard from friends of friends that he’d already picked up some new girl. Two people to raise a kid were better than one, right?

She cleaned off the kid and wrapped him in a spare blanket from her linen closet. Thankfully, that was around the time it decided to fall asleep, so she was able to shower herself and get all the blood and everything else off of her. Then she got dressed (the clothes she’d picked to wear to work that day would never be salvageable) and headed out the door, baby in tow.

Sheila was pretty sure Willis hadn’t moved, so she walked the few blocks to his place. His building was markedly crappier than hers, being just over the line from the almost respectable part of Park Row to what everyone called Crime Alley. The lock on his building’s door was broken, so she let herself in.

She banged on the door until it was answered by a redheaded woman. “Can I help you?” she asked.

Sheila pushed past her. “Willis home?”

“Cathy, who is it?” her ex called from further in. Sheila marched forward until she found him sitting on a dilapidated couch, cigarette in hand. Speaking of, she needed one. She plucked it out of his hand and then placed the baby in his arms.

“That’s yours,” she said.

“What the fuck?”

“I don’t want it. Up to you to figure out what to do with it now.”

“Cathy” had reentered the room. “What’s going on?” she asked.

“This bitch is dumping a kid on us. He doesn’t even look like me!” Willis raged as Sheila smoked his cigarette.

“Oh, I don’t know about that.” Amazingly, Cathy didn’t even look upset. Hell, she looked happy. She rushed forward and took the baby, who had been fussing ever since his birth mother had released him, into her arms. “What a handsome little guy! What’s his name?”

Sheila shrugged. “Didn’t pick one. That’s up to you.” Her duty done, she left the apartment.

“Sheila, you fucking bitch, get back here--!” Willis shouted as Catherine cooed over the baby.

“I think I’ll call you Jason.”

* * *

Jason’s first death coincided with his birth. He waited five more years for the next.

Both parents were out of the house, so he had drifted down to the street to play with other kids from the neighborhood. There was no adult supervision--all the parents were either at work or elsewhere. Usually one or two moms would watch the kids to keep them safe, but not today. All the kids were really doing was kicking an old soccer ball around, which wasn’t exactly dangerous. 

Someone passed to Jason and though he wound up as far back as he could to kick the ball back, he missed it by inches. It shot out into the street. “I’ll get it!” he called, running after it.

He didn’t even see the car that hit him. Jason Todd died instantly.

Luckily for him, this wasn’t the end. He woke up a few minutes later to a group of neighbor kids huddled around him, faces pale. “What happened?” He wiped some blood from his nose.

“Oh my god, he’s okay. He’s okay, guys!” yelled one girl to the rest of the kids, deemed too young to see what could be a dead body.

“‘Course I’m okay,” Jason muttered, sitting up. His limbs still felt tingly, like electricity had run through them. 

Jason came to recognize the electricity as he grew older. The next time he felt it was when he was seven and tried to get between his fighting parents, and for his troubles, was smacked so hard he hit a nearby table, his neck snapping right on the corner. Then again, a few months later, when he was running from some older kids and climbed over a fence and fell right on his head. Each time, he would wake to the feeling of energy coursing through his veins. If he had to describe it, he would say it was… blue, and cold, and above all, _strong._ Each time he felt it, it seemed stronger, closer to his mind, rather than just a reflex. 

A few months after his eighth birthday, Willis was in jail (as he often was), and the heat was off in their apartment since they couldn’t afford both it _and_ rent. He and his mother huddled as far from the windows as they could under every blanket in the house, but it wasn’t enough. Jason could feel himself tiring. Every time he closed his eyes, his mother would shake him, begging to stay awake, but eventually it was too much. His eyes slipped closed again, and that familiar blue power rose.

Catherine Todd watched in horror as her son slowly froze in her arms, only for his eyes to fly open and glow electric blue. His skin heated under her hands, and she could feel him growing warmer and warmer until the glow abruptly cut off. 

Jason stared at her, eyes wider than Catherine’d ever seen them, with fear or shock or something else that she couldn’t recognize. “I didn’t… I mean, it’s just that--”

“Shh, it’s okay, sweetie. This’ll be our little secret, okay?” Jason nodded, and Catherine smiled.

Who knew what Willis would do if he found out? No, they’d keep that between them.

* * *

Catherine took Jason’s secret to her grave only a few months after Willis’s death. With both parents gone, Jason was alone, and the streets of Gotham were no place for a child. He struggled for at least three more winters. He never froze to death again--he went to shelters when he got desperate, sneaking in after all the social workers left, and leaving before they came again--but food, and staying out of trouble, those were other stories. The years were such a blur that as an adult he couldn’t fully recall them. Like with his strange power, he didn’t know if that was a blessing or a curse.

When he was twelve, Jason found himself in the same kind of trouble he often did: jacking tires. Only this time, instead of the shitty cars people usually parked in the Alley, it was the nicest car he’d ever seen, one everyone in Gotham City knew: the Batmobile.

If he was able to lift the tires from _this_ … Visions of full meals at real restaurants, hotel rooms, and whole _shelves_ of books for him to read danced in his mind. He couldn’t resist. Just one tire would fund him for months. 

But did he stop at just one? Jason didn’t fear death, but neither did he look forward to his day to day life. Why stop at one when all four, a perfect set, could get him more money than he’d even know what to do with?

The wrench he’d found in the trash months back danced in his hand. His hands grew sweatier with every lug nut tossed carelessly to the side--he wouldn’t get any extra cash for them, and it wasn’t like he’d be putting new tires on the car. He stacked the tires in a dark corner of the alley, one, then two, then three, leaving just the back left one. Then he’d be home free.

In the end, it was tire number 4 that was his mistake. The Alley was always dark, when half its residents didn’t have the money to keep the lights on and the city didn’t care about illuminating the streets, but even Jason could feel the shadow of the Batman fall over him in the pitch dark.

Seven other children born at the same time as him had been adopted by a billionaire, and now, it was his turn.

“What are you doing,” rumbled a deep voice. Jason’s heart froze as he slowly twisted around. In the shadow, all he could see was a vaguely human shape with pointy ears and bright white eyes. Still, Jason was an Alley kid, and smart responses were practically in his blood.

“What does it _look_ like I’m doing?”

Batman didn’t even blink, and Jason’s anxiety spiked. The wrench slid out of his sweaty palms and clattered onto the street. Batman didn’t even _flinch,_ though Jason did, hard, when he heard the sound. 

“Are you afraid of me,” Batman intoned. It was a question, but it sure didn’t sound like one.

The answer was yes. Jason said, “No.”

The Bat continued to stare for another moment, and then he moved closer. Thanks to this, Jason could make out more detail. The man’s mask only covered the top half of his face, and he had on dark grey body armor and a cape. There were very few good shots of the Caped Crusader, so his appearance was a little surprising to Jason. The _most_ surprising part, though, was the tiny grin on Batman’s lips.

“Are you hungry?” asked the Bat. 

“Starving,” Jason replied.

“Then it’s a good thing I’ve got spares.”

Spares of what, Jason thought, when the Bat’s hand found his shoulder and roughly directed him away from the car. Jason’s first instinct was to wriggle away, but Batman held firm, so he settled for turning his hand and biting Batman’s gloved finger. “Ow,” said Batman, though Jason was sure he had barely felt it. “When I asked if you were hungry, I did not mean in a cannibalistic way.”

“Where are you taking me?” Jason shouted. 

“Burgers.”

Oh.

Jason allowed himself to be led to Bat Burger, where he ate enough for several grown men while the Bat watched patiently, occasionally stealing Jason’s fries. Dick. Then, when Jason reluctantly announced that he was full, they went outside, where the Batmobile was waiting.

“How--?”

“I told you. Spares.”

“Spare _cars?_ ” How rich was this asshole?

Batman just grunted, and then said, “Get in.”

Jason looked at him like he was crazy. “Are you crazy?” he proceeded to ask.

“Do you have anywhere else to be. Are your parents worried for you.”

“They’re dead, so probably not.”

The Bat grunted again. “So no reason not to come with me.”

“Again, are you _crazy?_ ”

“People ask me that every day. Get in. I will take you to my house and we will go from there.”

Jason narrowed his eyes. “What are you, some kind of social worker?”

“Ha. No. Get in the car, and I’ll make sure you never miss another meal.”

Tempting…but, Jason had a few stipulations. “You try _anything,_ I’m gettin’ the hell outta there.”

“Sure.”

“And I _better_ not have to eat bats, ‘cause that’s gross.”

“Highly unsanitary, and not kosher. Agent A would kill me himself if I ever tried that.” He opened the passenger side door for Jason.

“Who’s Agent A?” Jason asked as he got in the car.

Batman clambered in the driver’s seat a few moments later. “He’s my butler.” He switched the car on, and then the radio. “Agent A, prepare a room,” he said into some kind of walkie talkie by the radio.

The speakers crackled, and a male, British voice said, _“...Have you found another circus orphan, sir? Master Dick will be_ so _pleased.”_

Batman didn’t answer, just tore off into the Gotham night.

* * *

It turned out Batman was actually billionaire Bruce Wayne, which explained a lot, at least to Jason. And part of the reason he’d taken Jason in was because the original Robin, who hadn’t been around Gotham for a month or two by then, had actually moved out to go to college in another state. Agent A, Alfred, the butler, confided in Jason that “Master Bruce” had been quite sullen ever since his eldest had moved out, and that it was nice to have a child in the manor again.

(Jason had a lot of thoughts about this, like ‘am I just a replacement for that guy,’ but he didn’t say anything.)

And well, it was nice to _be_ in the manor. Suddenly Jason had a soft bed, regular meals, the full attention of two adults, and all the books he could read. He was getting regular tutoring so he could be enrolled in school again as soon as possible, and the best part? Bruce was training him to become Robin. _Robin!_ Running across the uneven bars in the Batcave to practice his parkour was incredible. Jason was pretty sure being Robin was _magic._

More magic than he already was, anyway. But he hadn’t told Bruce or Alfred about that. He knew that his semi-immortality probably made him uniquely suited to be a crime fighter in Gotham City, but people tended to act weird when they found out. His mom hadn’t looked at him the same for months after that time he froze, and only started being normal with him again because the heroin fucked with her mind too much for her to remember her son wasn’t exactly normal.

Jason figured his new family would find out about his gift when they needed to, which would be when he died next. Not _if,_ because as Alfred told him, the only inevitabilities in life were death and taxes. And because Jason knew he wouldn’t have this ability if he wasn’t already prone to dying.

The thing about knowing you’re always going to get back up whenever you fall, though, is that you don’t tend to be careful, and Jason wasn’t. He took a lot of what Bruce called “unnecessary risks:” fighting guys far outside his weight class, waiting until the last second to shoot his grapple, generally disobeying orders… Bruce didn’t like any of that, and any time he decided Jason was putting himself in too much danger, he’d get benched.

That was _so_ unfair. “It’s not like I’m the only teenage superhero out there doing crazy stunts,” he argued whenever Bruce would hide away his domino and Kevlar suit. “Like Green Arrow’s sidekicks, or those Umbrella kids! I bet Reginald Hargreeves treats his kids _way_ better than this. You never see _them_ getting benched for ‘attitude.’”

In fact, Hargreeves didn’t even take his kids out of the field when they killed people (which they definitely did, given how much blood was always on the one called The Horror after all their missions), and Jason _never_ did that. It was Batman’s one rule! At least, it was _one of_ Batman’s rules, he actually had a lot. Don’t kill, don’t put people into comas, don’t use guns, don’t take unnecessary risks, don’t disobey the Bat…

The last time Jason was benched was when he was fifteen, when Batman thought he _did_ kill someone. A rapist ran off a roof (Jason thought that would make a pretty good hook to a joke) and a Bat found a bird watching over the smear he’d made on the ground. Batman had been so pissed that he hadn’t just taken Robin away _again,_ he’d called in Boy Wonder Original Flavor to come help with the lecture.

Dick Grayson may have resented Bruce Wayne for a lot of things, but apparently not as much as he loathed Jason for taking his place in their dad’s life.

Jason didn’t respect Dick, as any hero worship he’d had for his predecessor had quickly died when they met, but that didn’t mean he liked being talked down to like he was some idiot kid for something that wasn’t even his fault. Bruce wouldn’t talk to him unless it was to say how disappointed he was, and Dick lorded his superiority over him, and even _Alfred_ was short with him in the coming days. Jason had never felt so alienated from people who were supposed to be his family before. He actually considered running away.

He’d always had a go bag, just in case, from his very first week in the manor. He’d stolen an old duffel bag of Dick’s, filled it with food and cash and clothes and all of his important documents, and hid it under a pile of other junk at the back of his wardrobe. Being blamed for the rightful death of Felipe Garzonas had him actually pulling it out again.

It was actually supposed to be dinner time, not that anyone wanted him there. Without Jason, they could be happy again, and forget the stain of the street kid on their perfect family. He ignored his growling stomach as he sorted through everything in the go bag, swiping at what definitely weren’t tears as he reorganized it. The snacks were a few years expired, and the clothes didn’t fit, but at least the cash was still good, as were his social security card and birth certificate. Jason Todd. Name of Father: Willis Todd. Maiden Name of Mother:

Sheila Haywood?

Who the hell was Sheila Haywood?

Years of training under the World’s Greatest Detective immediately helped him put the pieces together. Catherine Todd was not his birth mother. His _real_ mom had given him up. She didn’t want him. Of all the constants in his life… No parent ever _had_ wanted him, not even the one that picked him out special. His stupid _brother_ certainly didn’t.

Bet those Umbrella kids all get along with each other, he thought to himself as he robotically packed up a few new changes of clothes, freshly washed. They’re all the same age, so none of them have stupid older golden siblings their dad clearly prefers.

(Hundreds of miles away, Pogo Hargreeves sneezed.)

But maybe… maybe it wasn’t that she didn’t _want_ him. Maybe Sheila, his real mom, just _couldn’t_ keep him for some reason, said a bright little voice in Jason’s head. Maybe she hadn’t been able to take care of him, or Willis had fought for full custody and won. She could be out there right now missing him, and he had no idea! Sheila, _Mom,_ could be just what Jason was looking for: a loving home where he wouldn’t be judged for things that weren’t his fault.

Suddenly, Jason didn’t give a single shit about what the Bats thought anymore. Who cared if they were mad at him? Who cared if Bruce benched him, if Dick wouldn’t stop crowing about what a disappointment he was, if Alfred wouldn’t look him in the eye? His _real_ family was waiting for him.

In the middle of the night, when Batman and Nightwing were out and Agent A was on comms, Jason snuck down to the kitchen, filled up his go bag with non-perishable food items, and waited. In the morning, Bruce had to go to work, and Dick had a mission in space or something, so Jason feigned sick to get Alfred to leave him alone for a bit. Then, he snuck down to the Batcave and used the massive computer there to look up Sheila Haywood.

It took a while for the computer to filter his results enough to find the woman he was looking for (Jason desperately hoped Windows XP wasn’t going to be the be-all end-all of operating systems), but eventually, the Batcomputer told him of a white aid worker in Ethiopia who had lived in Gotham fifteen years prior. When he pulled up her picture, he saw his own blue eyes staring back at him. That had to be her!

But how to get to her? Bruce would know immediately if he took any of the Bat stuff to travel, especially the plane, so he’d have to use his cash to get to Africa. Fortunately, being the son of one of the richest men in the world opened a lot of doors, or rather, a lot of safes in the giant manor where he lived.

He packed the Robin suit, just in case his mom was in danger and needed rescuing. Who knew what she was up to? Better safe than sorry.

Jason felt a little bad about running off without saying anything, so he _did_ leave a note in the Cave saying he was going to find his real family. That way they wouldn’t worry. They weren’t _going_ to worry, given how much they hated him now, but it made Jason feel better to create a contingency on the miniscule chance that they did.

Getting a cab to the airport was easy. Somehow, even getting a ticket to Addis Ababa (through DC) was easy! Getting around a foreign country where he didn’t speak any of the official languages was a little harder. And Jason was so jetlagged that the first thing he ended up doing anyway was finding a hotel and crashing there.

Because Jason didn’t watch the news, he had no way of knowing that Batman was in the same country, even the same hotel, as him, chasing down the Joker. When he was getting breakfast the next morning and saw his father, he dropped his plate. It smashed on the tiled floor, attracting numerous stares, including Bruce’s.

At least Bruce looked as surprised to see him as Jason was. “Jason? What--why aren’t you in Gotham?”

“Didn’t you get my note?” Jason asked, his heart in his stomach.

“I’ve been here since yesterday, what note?”

Jason sneered at his father in a dining room full of people. “You don’t have to worry about me ruining your perfect family anymore. My birth mother lives here, and I’m going to find her.”

“Your birth--Jason, what on _earth_ are you talking about?”

Sick to his stomach, and sick of the conversation, Jason stormed back to the elevator and up to his room. He’d be checking out earlier than expected, but those were just precious minutes he could use to find his mom all the faster.

Bruce headed him off at the hotel entrance, though. “Jason, talk to me. What is going on? Your birth mother? Does Alfred know you’re here?”

Jason exploded. “Why would Alfred care? Why do _you_ care? You all hate me now! I know you all think I’m a fuck-up, even though Dick’s the only one who’s actually told me to my face!” A shadow passed over Bruce’s eyes. “My _mom,_ Sheila _Haywood,_ from my _birth certificate,_ is here in Ethiopia and I’m gonna go and find her and tell her I’m her son and stay with her and you never have to think about me ever again!” Jason ran past Bruce and clambered into the first taxi he saw, asking to be taken to a train station so he could head to wherever his mom was. Bruce followed after him, but they left him behind.

Jason ended up switching trains a few times, asking the strangers at the tills if they knew how to get to the refugee camp where his mother was working. At the closest town he had to hire another cab to drive him out to where Sheila was. The whole time, Bruce hadn’t been following him, or at least, hadn’t been able to track him down. Good riddance.

He thought he must have been quite the sight, coming up to tents as far as the eye could see, a white teen in a designer polo shirt and shorts. Quite a few people definitely looked at him sideways, but he had a mission. He ran up to the first person he saw, a white man smoking a cigarette, looking like he was on his break, and asked where Sheila was. The man just said, “Medical tent.” Jason thanked him and headed further in.

The security in this place was really abysmal, he thought as he passed families trying to settle in for the night, looking for anywhere that seemed vaguely medical. He was redirected a few more times by other people, probably other aid workers, who spoke enough English to point him in the right direction. Eventually, he came upon a large canvas tent with a red cross painted on it, and he went in.

About half the cots were full, and electric lights strung up around the wooden support beams were already on to compensate for the low light of the evening. There was only one white person in there at the moment, a sweaty blonde woman in a white blouse and green pants.

“Mom?” Jason called.

She turned around. Her eyes took him in, and she looked confused for a very long moment. “Ja...son?”

“Mom!” he cried, launching himself at her. Unable to help himself, he threw his arms around her. She held her own arms awkwardly over him before patting him tentatively on the back.

“How did you find me?” she asked. “ _Why_ did you find me?”

“I only learned a few days ago that Mo--that Catherine wasn’t my real mom, that it was you! So I just had to find you.”

“What--what about Willis?” she asked.

“He died a few years ago in prison. And this other guy adopted me,” he carefully avoided mentioning Bruce’s name, “but I don’t belong there.”

“Oh, I’m sure that’s not true,” she replied uneasily.

“I have so many questions!” Jason continued. “About you, about your family, about...everything! I’m just so glad I found you.”

She gently pushed him away. “That’s...great, Jason. Really. And I’m glad to meet you too, it’s just… now isn’t really the best time?”

“What do you mean?” Sure, she was an international aid worker and was probably busy, but they were _family._

“I’m in a little bit of trouble right now. It’s hard to explain, but…”

“Maybe I can help!” 

“Oh, Jason, that’s very nice of you to offer--”

“No, Mom, you don’t understand. I’m not just some stupid kid, okay? I help people all the time.” He dropped his duffel bag to the floor and rooted through it, pulling out his domino and Robin suit. “ _I’m Robin._ ”

Sheila’s eyes flickered wildly between his face and the outfit in his hands. She seemed to think very hard for a few moments. “Actually...yes. I think maybe you _can_ help me.”

Jason’s heart burst with happiness. “I’ll do anything for you, Mom.”

“Put on the suit and meet me outside in five minutes.”

* * *

Sheila found a Jeep for them, and Jason climbed in without question. They sped off into the savannah. “Where are we going?” Jason asked a few times, but every time he did, Sheila would just clench the steering wheel harder, so he dropped it.

After about an hour of driving, Jason saw lights in the distance. They reminded him a bit of the Gotham docks, though not nearly as cloudy and gloomy. As they got closer, he realized what he was looking at was a long line of warehouses along a river. Sheila pulled up next to one. “Wait here,” she instructed Jason. She got out of the car and disappeared inside.

Jason waited about five minutes before his impatience took over. He swung himself out the Jeep window and crept over to the door Sheila had gone through. He didn’t hear anything when he pressed his ear to it, so he cracked it open and snuck inside.

“...for the last _time,_ if you don’t have my _money,_ you’re no _use_ to me!” cried a strangely familiar voice. Sheila and whoever she needed Jason’s help with must be in another room. He moved closer.

“And for the last time,” Sheila replied tersely, “I have something you’ll want _more_ than the chump change I can scrape off the top of the aid fund.”

Jason’s stomach turned. Something wasn’t right here. His mom was a criminal? Who was she talking to, anyway?

Sheila’s conversation partner laughed, high and insane, and Jason’s blood turned to ice. He knew that laugh. All of Gotham knew that laugh. But that was impossible, he was supposed to be in Arkham…

Before Jason could think of what to do next, he found himself stepping out from behind the corner. There was his mother, arms crossed, glaring up at a giggling Joker, surrounded by what appeared to be a whole gang of local muscle. All eyes in the room locked onto him at exactly the same time. “Oh, what do we have here?” the Joker simpered. “You’ve flown quite along way from home, little bird!”

Jason turned to run back out to the Jeep, but the Joker was on him faster than he could move, tackling him to the floor. “Not so fast,” the villain giggled into his ear. “You and I are going to have a lot of fun, all thanks to Mommy Dearest here!”

Jason gulped, and hoped Batman would get there soon.

* * *

Despite his struggles, the Joker’s men managed to tie Jason’s wrists to his feet and disarm him of all his Batarangs and other weapons. “Weapon!” the Joker shrieked as soon as they were done. Someone handed him a crowbar. “Okay, now all of you _clear out_!” He gazed back down at Jason. “Hmm, what to do first?” he asked himself. Then he looked at Sheila. “Well, he’s your kid! Tell me about him, how do you think I should go about this?”

Sheila shrugged, and fished a pack of cigarettes out of her back pocket. “I don’t know jack about him. Dropped him off with his dad a few hours after he was born. I mean, can you imagine _me_ with a kid?” She laughed, and lit a cigarette.

The Joker laughed with her while Jason’s head slumped to his chest in defeat. He willed himself not to cry. This definitely wasn’t going like he imagined, but maybe… Batman knew he was in the country. He’d have to be looking for him. The World’s Greatest Detective wasn’t going to give up on his son when there were so many obvious clues, right?

The Joker knelt before Jason. “You know, kid, this doesn’t have to be hard. I won’t even hit ya at all if you just tell me a few things.”

Jason spat in his face. “Go to hell.”

The Joker grinned and licked the spit off his cheek. “Okay, but remember, you’re the one that picked the hard way !” He twirled the crowbar in his hand like a baton, and with a sharp _crack_ brought it down on Jason’s shoulder.

It hurt the worst at the beginning, when all the wounds were fresh. Every bone that broke screamed with Jason. The Joker just kept laughing himself silly and telling Jason, “This can all stop if you just _tell me who the Bat is!_ ”

Even when Jason’s jaw had cracked and he was spitting blood, all he would tell the Joker was to go fuck himself. That didn’t seem to deter his tormentor, who would merrily swing away at Jason’s ribs, arms, legs, temples. At one point he got bored of whacking Jason with the crowbar and switched it out with a switchblade that he used to carve messages into Jason’s skin. The worst was when he dug it into the soft flesh of Jason’s cheek, making a large J. “For me, of course!” he told Jason smugly.

The whole time, Sheila stood in the corner, watching boredly, smoking a cigarette.

Hours passed, maybe days, and Jason felt himself disconnecting from his body. It still hurt when he was hit, but it was more of an impact than a sharp break. Everything became muted. Jason felt like he was floating over his own body, watching the Joker slowly beat him to death while he laid motionless on the floor, eyes staring out into nothing.

When Jason passed out, that seemed to bore the Joker, at least, so he busied himself with other things around the warehouse. What it was he was doing, Jason didn’t know, but he wasn’t eager to find out.

Surely Batman would come soon. He would come, knock the Joker out, and then…

Jason found himself in a room with beige walls and thin white curtains. A TV blared in the background, and there was pain, especially in his left hand. He looked. Oh, an IV. On his other side sat Bruce, sleeping fitfully in an uncomfortable chair. Was this the hospital?

He blinked and he was in another room, his room back home with the thick blue curtains Alfred would open every morning to let the sun wake Jason. Dick was at his bedside, holding Jason's hand, sobbing that he was sorry. Alfred kept trying to give Dick a handkerchief that he kept refusing. Bruce was by the door, face stony but sorrowful. 

"We never should have blamed you for Garzonas. We're sorry, Jay, _so_ sorry. Please wake up. Please come back. We can be a family, we'll do whatever you want, just please come back. Jason, we love you…"

The Joker was back. He nudged Jason’s bloody body with his foot. “Huh. You know, this was fun, but it’s starting to bore me a bit. Good thing I’ve got a great grand finale.” He whipped a small remote out of his pocket, and leaned in to whisper to Jason, “Do you know what _this_ is?”

Jason groaned.

“That’s right, a _detonator!_ And, boop!” He pressed a button on the remote. “There’s the countdown, which means I need to skedaddle. See you on the flip side, kid.” He giggled and looked back one more time at Jason’s body. “A bit messy, huh?” He tossed the remote to the ground along with a red electric timer set for one minute, and started singing to himself as he sauntered off.

Jason didn’t see Sheila anywhere. Where had she gone? Had she left while the Joker tortured him? No… he saw her walking through a door on the opposite end of the large warehouse room. She must have gone to the bathroom or something.

As he giggled and sang, the Joker opened the outside door, letting bright yellow sunlight in for just a moment, before closing it and letting the warehouse fall into darkness once more.

Twenty seconds passed before Sheila emerged from wherever she had been. She rushed back over to the bloody spot on the ground where Jason laid. “What’s going on? Where’s the Joker?”

Jason made a noise that sounded like pain. Sheila tapped her foot impatiently, waiting for him to answer. “Bomb,” he moaned. “Here.”

“A bomb? Wait, are you kidding me?” She ran to the door the Joker had left from and tried the handle. “It’s locked. It’s locked!” She ran around the whole perimeter of the warehouse, trying every door she could. “Locked, locked… he’s locked us in here to die!” she wailed. She staggered back over to Jason. “How could he… how could _I…_ ” She fell to her knees next to Jason’s body, not noticing his eyes starting to glow an ethereal blue. “Oh, Jason, I’m so--”

Bruce Wayne saw the explosion when he was still several hundred feet away. He stepped on the gas of the car he’d procured, racing toward the burning warehouse as fast as he could. By all the evidence he’d collected, his son was in there, and if he didn’t get there in time…

If Batman didn’t save Robin in time, he didn’t know what he’d do.

The warehouse was a pile of rubble when he arrived, but Batman dug through it all the same, desperate to reach his boy. “Robin!” he called, tossing aside rocks bigger than his son’s head. “Jason! _Son!_ ”

After an agonizing and uncountable number of minutes, he found a scrap of yellow fabric. His heart caught in his throat. Robin’s cape. He dug more fervently, until he found bloody flesh. He tugged at his son’s leg, dislodging a few more rocks until Jason was completely unearthed. Batman picked up his son, carrying him protectively in front of his own body, and rushed away from ground zero to lay him down on the dirt and check his pulse. Neither Robin’s wrist nor his neck offered a heartbeat. Frantically, he pressed his ear to his son’s chest, then tore off his cowl to listen harder.

Nothing.

Robin did not move.

It would be easier if Dick were there, or even Clark or Diana. Bruce always performed better, was able to more effectively be The Bat, when there was someone watching, especially if it was someone who he needed to protect or put on the act for. Dick would be crying his eyes out at this, and Bruce would have to be the strong one, pulling himself together for both his sons’ sakes. But he was alone.

Batman didn’t know how long he spent there on the ground, sobbing over his son’s body, but it wasn’t forever. A thousand years later, or maybe just a few minutes, he mechanically got up and loaded his son’s corpse into the car, and took it back to Addis Ababa. 

No matter how hard he wished and prayed to every deity he could think of, Robin did not wake. He was still in the back of the batplane the entire flight back to the states. He did not stir even as the trusted coroner cut open his chest to get the extent of his injuries, and then sewed him back up after taking her notes and officially pronouncing him dead on April 27, 2005. The mortician from the Gotham _chevra kadisha_ washed him and fit him into a white shroud over his best suit, one he hated in his life, and a Robin red tie, and Jason did not open his eyes. He was still as the guard watched him until the funeral the next morning. Through the entirety of his closed casket funeral, through his burial, and Bruce’s _shiva_ and _shloshim,_ even through the unveiling of his headstone, Jason was irrefutably dead. 

And then, after five months more of waiting, he was not.

* * *

For six months, the soul of Jason Todd lingered in the Gotham Jewish cemetery, unable to leave his body. A silver-blue cord stretched out of his chest and disappeared into the ground, connected to, Jason knew, his corpse. If he touched it, it shocked him, like it was coated in static electricity, and the feeling reminded him of the sensation of coming back to life. He could only get about a hundred feet away before the cord grew taut and painful and he’d be forced to go back to his grave to recover.

Late in the fall of 2005, for the first time, Jason felt a tug on the other end of the cord. There was a thrumming in his incorporeal chest, and soon after, phantom pain in his fists and nails. The scent and taste of dirt filled his nose and mouth, driving him to his knees in disgust as he choked on it. Minutes passed like that, each more excruciating than the last, until Jason finally saw a pale hand breach the soft dirt of his grave.

The corpse of Jason Todd climbed out of its grave by inches, scrabbling at earth that refused to act as a solid handhold to ease the process for him. It took nearly an hour from when it awoke for it to get itself all the way out, emerging fully nearly ten feet from the burial site. It crawled a few feet from its point of exit, then flopped onto its back on the ground, breathing heavily but steadily.

The soul of Jason Todd stared at his body. The soul cord glimmered faintly at the same spot on its chest as it did on his. He tentatively took a step forward toward his own body, but it must have sensed him coming, because it glared at him ferociously and snarled with its teeth bared. It was a clear message: do not approach. Jason held his hands up to show that he wasn’t going to try anything, and then sat down on the ground to watch his body regain its strength.

“Well, this is fucking weird,” he said. The former carcass did not respond. “Like, what happens now? We just sit here and wait for Bruce?”

“ _Bruce,_ ” garbled the body, its mouth still half full of dirt. It flopped its torso around until it was upright, and then stumbled up to its feet. “Bruce.”

“Wait, no--don’t go looking for Bruce, you don’t know where you’re going! Wait here, someone will find us and call him!”

It was no use. The corpse was staggering further and further away from its grave, toward the street. Despite being Gotham, there was no fence around this cemetery, making it very easy for people to get in and out.

“Oh, God, don’t wander off into the street--”

Jason’s body wandered off into the street, and was hit by a car almost immediately.

Jason sighed defeatedly. Amazingly, the car stopped when it hit the kid. A woman dressed like a 1950’s housewife got out, her face pale. “What could that have been? Did I hit a deer or something?” She walked around to inspect the body. “Oh, no, no, no.” She knelt down and shook the body’s shoulder. It didn’t respond. “Oh, dear.” Jason watched dispassionately as she pulled a cell phone out of her pocket and flipped it open. “No signal? How inconvenient.” She put the phone away and stared at the body for a second before making some kind of decision. She awkwardly picked up Jason’s body and dragged it over to the passenger side door. “Okay, time to get in the car and go back to the hospital.”

This was ridiculous. What city was this? Had Bruce buried him in _Bristol_ or something? This lady did _not_ have a healthy Gotham level of paranoia. Jason shook his head and snuck into the back seat of the car while the strange woman drove him to the hospital.

When she arrived at the hospital, the woman threw Jason’s body over her shoulder and calmly walked into the emergency room. “Hello,” she said to the nurse at the counter. “I accidentally hit this young man with my car. Could you help him?”

The nurse blinked. “Name?”

“Grace Hargreeves.”

“His name?”

Grace frowned. “You know, I don’t know.” She smiled again. “But I’m sure he’ll tell you once he wakes up.”

She continued to chat pleasantly with the ER nurse about her sons (one of whom was a patient at that very hospital after ingesting quite a few toxic substances) while another team of nurses came in with a gurney to take the body to an exam room. Jason had no choice but to follow. What a strange lady, he thought.

The abrupt change of scenery didn’t do much for Jason’s mood. He realized a few months had passed, and that it was already his birthday. What a way to spend your sweet sixteen.

The hospital was moderately more interesting than the cemetery, though. He was able to wander the halls and see people in all stages of life, humanity at its best and worst. Jason wasn’t able to interact with anyone, which was a little irritating, but he could still watch.

Well, _one_ person could interact with him. A day or so after arriving, he wandered into a rather nice temporary ward, the kind Bruce would have put his kids in if he trusted doctors that weren’t Leslie Thompkins. One room had three teenage boys in it, a skinny white one, a muscular Latine one, and an Asian one in a hoodie. The white boy blinked lazily and looked him right in the eye. “Hey, hot stuff. Happy birthday to _me._ ”

Jason blushed, then looked behind him for the normal person Skinny was clearly looking at.

“No, I mean you, skunk boy.” Jason touched his hair self-consciously. His body _did_ have a strange white streak in its hair now. “You dye it like that on purpose? You look kinda like Pepé le Pew, but you’re _working_ it.”

Muscles rolled his eyes. “Klaus, don’t hit on ghosts.”

“Sorry about him,” Hoodie said, not looking sorry at all. Jason was too embarrassed to answer, so he just left.

Jason still couldn’t go further than a few hundred feet from his body, which meant that though he’d like to check up on Bruce and Alfred (and maybe Dick), there was nothing he could do but watch the news. At least time was easier to keep track of with television and calendars and overheard gossip about important dates. Batman and Robin take down Scarecrow just before Halloween, no more Happy Scary Day for Crane. The Riddler tried some weird Thanksgiving shit, stopped in the nick of time by the Caped Crusader. Someone tried to deliver poisoned Christmas treats to all of Gotham, only a handful of casualties thanks to the hard work of the Dynamic Duo. Jason assumed Dick had come back to his old mantle with Jason’s death. Couldn’t have Batman without Robin, after all.

In June, Jason’s body woke up again. Why it had fallen into a nine month coma immediately after resurrecting itself, Jason didn’t know, it wasn’t like that woman had hit it _that_ hard with her car. Now it was mid-2006, and Jason Doe was escorting himself out of Gotham General with no discharge papers, and Jason Todd had no choice but to follow.

The corpse wandered around the streets of Gotham, scrounging food out of dumpsters and, when it was really desperate, out of people’s hands. It had the muscle memory to defend itself, so it didn’t get beat up, but not enough to get its legs to take it home to the manor. At least it was capable of finding relatively dry places to rest at night, Jason thought as he watched his body sleep fitfully under a broken fire escape.

Dry didn’t mean safe, though. The body’s location was not defensible. Anyone could sneak up on it and force a bag over its head and escort it through the grim Gotham night to an astonishingly well-hidden jet that would then be set on a course for an undisclosed, but undoubtedly unsafe, location. And that was exactly what happened, when a freshly jilted Talia al Ghul stumbled upon Jason one night.

She looked _furious._ Jason’s soul didn’t know what was going on with her, but he assumed Bruce had fucked up somehow again. Her sword was already in her hand, slick with what could have been fog but was equally likely to be blood. When she stumbled over Jason Doe on the ground, she looked seconds away from killing him out of sheer irritation, until she got a closer look at him.

“That’s a familiar face,” she murmured to herself, carefully turning Jason’s body onto its back so she could examine it more closely. “What’s it doing here?” She shook the body roughly, but it did not wake. It honestly slept like the dead, which was a joke Jason had thought up months ago when he was still in the hospital but hadn’t been able to share with anyone. “Should I bring him to…? No. He doesn’t _deserve_ you, child. I will take care of you instead.” Like Bruce, she wore a utility belt, but unlike Bruce, hers had a burlap sack. Assassins had different priorities, Jason supposed.

The body woke while it was being walked away from its hidey hole, Jason could tell, but it didn’t do anything to protest, even when Talia strapped it into its seat and removed the sack. “Do you recognize me?” she asked. The body didn’t respond, and she frowned. “Jason?” She waved her hand over its face. Nothing. “This is concerning,” she muttered to herself. “I can’t help but think he had something to do with this. Probably for the best I picked you up. Well, don’t worry. I’m taking you somewhere safe, far away from here, and I _will_ do whatever it takes to help you.”

Odd. Talia wasn’t exactly known for being...helpful. The way she smoothed Jason’s body’s hair down was downright _maternal,_ though. Something was going on. Jason didn’t like not having all the facts, it was part of what made him a decent protege to the World’s Greatest Detective. Whatever had gone down between Talia and Bruce had made her softer and more protective, somehow? Maybe their destination would have more clues.

Someone else was flying the plane, so Talia spent the entire flight trying to get Jason’s body to react to something, anything. She tried reflex tests, which it passed boredly, food, which it ate ravenously, and asking questions, which it did not answer. The only word that got any reaction was “Bruce.”

“What has Bruce done?” she asked herself as she smoothed the hair out of the body’s eyes.

It looked up at her, eyes shiny with sudden tears. “Bruce?”

“You know that name. Bruce.”

“Bruce?” it asked again.

“Your father. Batman. Bruce.”

The tears began to run down its face. “Bruce.”

Talia thought that was progress, until she couldn’t get a similar reaction for any other name, not Alfred, not Dick, not even Joker. Jason himself sat about ten feet away, watching the whole thing. Any closer and the body would get agitated and Talia would get upset in turn.

When they landed, hours later, Talia had the body taken to a set of lavish rooms, where it loitered uneasily. Though there was a bed, it curled up for a restless sleep on the floor. In the meantime, Jason explored the surrounding area. He found a courtyard with men and women all in black training clothes following sword forms, and other small gyms with more individual training, but nothing else nearby. The halls were a maze anyway. He decided to stay by his body for the time being, just in case.

Over the next several weeks, the body stayed in the room. It ate when food came, and slept on the floor, but didn’t bother to wash itself unless someone assisted. Talia brought in a slew of doctors and behavioral scientists, but none of them could figure out what was wrong with it. “The lights are on,” one told her, “but there’s nobody home.”

“More like someone lost their keys and got locked out,” Jason told him, but they obviously didn’t hear him.

Talia grew more frustrated as the weeks passed and there were no improvements. Jason wanted to commiserate with her. Maybe she’d bring in a psychic or something? But she didn’t. Instead, one evening, after a long day of watching his body lay on the floor staring at the ceiling, she came for him.

“I have one last thing I would like to try,” she told the body, and a pair of servants hustled him out of the room. They walked for so long Jason started to lose track of time. They went through at least three separate secret passageways into older and older parts of the...compound? or whatever this place was, until they reached a slab of stone at the end of an ancient hallway. Another pair of guards were there, and they just inclined their heads and pushed the stone out of the way for Talia.

Inside was a great cavern, and in the middle, a pit of glowing green water. The cord in Jason’s chest that held him to his body thrummed with a strange energy. It wasn’t anything like his usual resurrection energy, and it made him nervous. Before he could react, Talia led the body up to the edge of the water and pushed it in.

For a few precious moments, nothing happened, and then at the edge of the pit, Jason felt the phantom sensation of water entering his nose and mouth, sliding down his throat into his stomach and lungs. He thought the body might have gasped and convulsed, but he was in too much pain himself to notice. After full minutes of this torture, the cord connecting body and soul grew taut, and Jason was flung into the water, where he collided with himself.

The next thing he knew, he was breaching the green water with a gasp. He blindly made his way to the edge of the pit and pulled himself out, breathing heavily as he laid on the cold stone. When he finally came back to himself, he opened his eyes to see Talia smiling wickedly down at him.

“Welcome back, Jason Todd.”

* * *

Jason had wandered, sleepless and bored, through a Gotham hospital for six months, so he was at least sort of abreast of current events. He knew that Batman was still active, and that Robin was with him. Talia helpfully gave him a little more information.

Had he known, while he was dead, that Robin was a replacement, and that the Joker was back in Arkham, he would have been upset, but could have justified a lot of it to himself. Batman needed a partner, he was too used to fighting with someone to protect, and he would never break his golden rule. But this version of Jason, fresh from the pit, was  _ furious.  _

Talia channeled his rage expertly into lessons. Within a month, Jason was one of the best hand-to-hand fighters in the League, so Talia sent him off to learn swordsmanship from a German woman. Then, poisons from a man in Cairo. Then, firearms from a man in Malaysia. So on and so forth, with whatever he wanted to learn with the best people she could find for the job. When Jason asked what she was telling her father about all of it, she said her father was excited about such a talented young prospective member, especially one who had trained under his dearest protege. Jason laughed at that. Sure, his body count was in the dozens now, but he’d never be Ra’s al Ghul’s bitch. By Talia’s smile, she understood.

When Jason asked Talia about  _ her  _ motives, she simply told him that she wanted what was best for him, and that doing a favor for Batman never hurt anybody. Jason felt as though there was more to it than that, but he didn’t press. His rage was laser-focused, and anything that wasn’t learning to be more dangerous was a waste of his time, sussing out his new mentor’s motives included.

After over a year of training, Talia deemed him ready to confront The Bat and his replacement. She gave him everything she thought he’d need: Cayman bank accounts with more cash than he’d ever seen in his life, multiple new identities, safehouses in Gotham, Blüdhaven, and Metropolis, and a shiny red helmet, complete with technical specs and a user’s guide so he could repair it if it ever broke. 

The vigilante formerly known as Jason Todd arrived in Gotham City on his eighteenth birthday, and he quickly got to work.

Talia had found him a middle-of-the-road apartment in the Bowery with all the amenities a teenage assassin could ask for: access to the nearby light rail, a convenience store down the street, in-unit washer and dryer, and even a shitty flatscreen TV. His first order of business was watching the news to get a general idea of the major players before heading out on his own, as territories had probably changed since he was last in the city, and he didn’t want to walk into something he wasn’t ready for.

During the middle of a CNN special, “The Umbrella Academy at 18: Sitting Down with One and Three,” there was a breaking news update. The last remaining players in a human trafficking ring Batman and Robin had been systematically destroying for months had finally been arrested. Some lucky journalist had actually managed to catch the dynamic duo on a rooftop across the street from Gotham’s First precinct. She hadn’t been shouting loud enough for them to hear her questions, but her camera had caught clear footage of Batman ruffling Robin’s hair like a proud father.

Jason had to buy a new TV after that.

His second order of business was to figure out the whole immortality thing. Did he still have his powers? He hadn’t died under Talia’s tutors, but he was afraid that after what had happened in Ethiopia, he was on his last life, like a cat. He wasn’t about to kill himself to find out what would happen, but it was going to be (figuratively) killing him until he got the answer.

A chance encounter was just what he needed. 

Jason did his best, but he sometimes didn’t do everything he needed to take care of himself while plotting his revenge quest. Things like cleaning and eating fell to the wayside, which was why it was so lucky he lived less than a block from a 24-hour convenience store.

At three in the morning, about two months after moving in, he found he hadn’t eaten for over 24 hours, and there was nothing in his apartment but soy sauce and plain tortilla chips. He put on his winter jacket and headed out.

At that time of night, the place should have been completely empty, though it wasn’t, oddly enough. Besides Jason, there was the clerk, an old man with a briefcase, and a woman in her mid-20’s buying cigarettes. Jason found a few frozen meals he hadn’t grown tired of yet and decided to browse the magazines before making his purchase. “BATMAN OR MANBAT: DISSECTING THE CAPED CRUSADERS POWERS” from the Gotham Gossiper looked funny, as did the tabloid discussing some popstar converting to a weird cult. He actually took a few minutes to flip through an article called “LUCKY NUMBER SEVEN: SECRET UMBRELLA ACADEMY STUDENT TELLS ALL.”

While Jason read about “Vanya” and her angst at never truly being part of the family, the old man pulled a handgun out of his coat and shot the cashier and the woman buying cigarettes, both in the head, both with nary a flinch.

Jason dropped his magazine and threw himself behind a rack of chips, but the old man quickly found him.

“What is going on? Why are you doing this?” Jason asked.

“Why are people always asking me that? It’s not like you’re going to remember after you’re dead,” Number Five replied, before pulling the trigger. 

Jason came to a few minutes later with a familiar burst of blue power in his chest. So his powers  _ were  _ back. What a relief. Now, time to scram, before the cops (or worse, Batman) showed up.

With that confirmation, there was nothing stopping Jason from really getting to work. His main target: Roman Sionis, a.k.a. Black Mask. Roman had connections in Arkham, and if Jason pissed him off enough, he’d let the Joker off his leash for a game of cat and mouse. What Roman wouldn’t know was who was  _ really  _ the cat, and who would die at the other’s claws.

There were several steps in Jason’s plan.

First: a declaration of intent. He showed up at a meeting of various high-level Gotham criminals and their surrogates with a duffel bag full of heads he’d taken from mid-level scum, and a declaration that he’d be taking over the city’s underworld, at least in the Alley and the Bowery. This pissed a lot of people off, so he followed it up with another pile of bodies.

Next was to keep up with his threats, consistently. He went on a rampage, systematically taking out shipments for Black Mask, killing or maiming his mules, and scaring off his customers. It soon became clear to other players in the underworld who Jason’s biggest target was, and so they tried to set up alliances with him or just work under his nose. That was a mistake, they learned, when Jason, calling himself the Red Hood, took out the idiots sneaking around with prejudice.

Sionis started getting frustrated, sending more and more men after Jason, eventually resorting to third-rate villains and assassins. Roman wanted him  _ dead.  _ Jason even obliged, more than once. As Sionis got angrier, he got sloppier, and Jason knew he had more than one opportunity to finish him off for good, but he bided his time. He’d never get to the Joker with Black Mask dead, and that final target justified letting his new nemesis live, if only for a few months longer.

The real obstacle to his revenge, besides time, was the whole fucking legion of crimefighters that had shown up in Gotham since Jason’s death. Besides the Bat himself and replacement Robin, Nightwing dropped in from time to time, there was a new Batgirl (what had happened to Babs?), some idiot in purple calling herself “Spoiler,” and even a female twin to Batman with bright scarlet hair named Bat _ woman  _ who came after Jason once or twice. Where were they all coming from? Seriously, were they reproducing or something?

The thing about there being so goddamn many of them was that they figured out how to gang up on him pretty easily. There was only one Red Hood, and he worked alone. No one else needed to get dragged into his crusade, after all. Batman, Robin, and Batgirl cornered him on a roof with a steep drop and only one viable route out, even by grapple, that they quickly covered. Batgirl straight wailed on him while Robin tried to trap him, and Batman himself used his superior size to block his escape. Damn, could the girl  _ hit.  _ Her fists weren’t strong enough to crack his helmet, thankfully, but she’d kicked the thing enough times that it rattled against his skull so hard that he could taste blood in his mouth. His vision got just blurry enough that he missed one of the stupid bolas Robin had set off, and it ended up wrapping around his ankles, sending him falling to the concrete of the roof.

The dumb kid made quick work of handcuffing him and trying to get his helmet, until Hood was able to grind out, “If you touch that thing in the wrong place it’ll blow and take us both out. Step back, replacement.” Robin darted back after that, hovering with Batgirl a safe distance away.

Batman took his place, kneeling down next to Jason. “Red Hood. An old alias formerly used by the Joker. Are you affiliated with him?”

Jason laughed, aware that it sounded distorted and awful coming from the voice modulator in the helmet. “Just as much as everyone else in this city is.”

“What is your objective, Hood?”

“Haven’t you heard? I wanna run it all. I’m gonna… be king of this city. And I’m gonna kill whoever I need to to make it happen.” He tugged at the bola wrapped around his feet, but it held tight. He could probably loosen it with enough wiggling, but that would take time that the Bats wouldn’t give him. Jason would have to divert their attention long enough to free himself.

Batman’s gaze hardened. “Nothing is worth the death of other innocent lives, Hood.”

“ _ Innocent?  _ You call Roman Sionis and his lackeys innocent? Who can you call innocent in this city, anyway? The kids? You and your little team? The dead?”

“He’s crazy, just like all the others,” Robin muttered to Batgirl.

“Gonna throw me in Arkham, then? Like I won’t be out in a week, knowing the state of that place.” Jason grinned. “Guess I’ve had worse accommodations.”

“Blackgate is an option, though with your record…”

“A  _ child  _ could escape from Blackgate. ‘Sides, everyone I’ve killed deserved it. Maybe even the judge will side with me. Who can you put on a Gotham jury that hasn’t had something horrible happen to someone they loved? I’m just cleaning up the streets,” Jason rambled as he wiggled his feet more. He’d felt a little give in the bola, and the more he talked, the more they focused on his face, and not his feet. “You don’t think little Suzie and her mom are happy all the drug dealers and rapists that used to operate on her street are gone? And all it took was one guy?”

“Killing,  _ wrong, _ ” Batgirl spat.

“Even monsters? And I suppose it depends on who does it. Half the Justice League has killed, but you still work with them, don’t you?”

“ _ Different, _ ” stressed Batgirl. Jason laughed again.

“Right, ‘cause they’re government-sanctioned?” The rope on the bola was almost completely loose. “Like the cops, or the military?”

“This conversation is pointless,” Batman growled. “Where you end up is up to the courts, true, but the point is that we  _ are  _ taking you in and your killing spree is  _ over. _ ”

Jason smiled as he felt his legs escape Robin’s trap. “Actually, I don’t think so.” He sprung up. His hands were still cuffed behind his back, making balance a little trickier, but a miniature set of lockpicks (a gift from Talia) kept in a secret sleeve pocket made short order of those. And not a moment too soon; he’d rubbed his wrists bloody on the damn things. So much for the Bats not finding his true identity; they’d take the blood off those and run it as soon as they got back to the Cave. 

“Batgirl!” Batman barked. This time Jason was prepared, though, so when Batgirl rushed him, he was able to vault over her and to the other side of the roof.

“Seeya, Bruce.” He waved as he grappled away, taking one last moment of satisfaction in the shocked look on his former father’s face.

* * *

So the Bats knew who he was now. So what? What was Bruce going to do, call the cops on his own dead son? The best they could come up with was sending Dick to parlay with him, which was laughable. The idiot tried to talk him down a few times, and got himself shot at (and nearly blown up, once, when Jason was feeling particularly tetchy) for his troubles.

None of that mattered, though, because Black Mask was finally getting frustrated enough to start pulling out the big guns.

He made the mistake of letting Poison Ivy out first. Morno almost suffocated on poison pollen the second he tried to tell her what to do. Jason wasn’t stupid enough to go after a plant goddess with just guns, especially when the rest of the Bat Clan was on her case, so he got a rare night in.

Then was Harley Quinn, who Batman dispatched quickly enough. She  _ could  _ have been effective, but being in Arkham with Joker had brought her obsession back to its full height, and she was more focused on what  _ he  _ would want than doing what Black Mask asked, especially if it meant taking out some random punk.

The third time was the charm. When Jason checked the news that fine February day, all anyone was talking about was the Joker’s breakout in the wee hours of the morning after the Bats usually went to bed. The city was considering shutting down, since they didn’t know the clown’s motives, especially since he’d been so quiet about the whole thing. A Joker breakout was never a good thing. People who could stay home did until the whole thing blew over.

Jason called in every favor he had and blackmailed every one of Black Mask’s men he could get a hand on to get the Joker’s location.

He’d been waiting over a year for this

The Joker was hidden out in a shitty apartment in Crime Alley, of all places. How fitting. Jason broke in, dispatched all the guards but one, and shot out the man of the hour’s calves with extreme prejudice, tying him to a chair just in case he decided to try and crawl away. Then he told the remaining guard, “I’ll let you live. But you have to get a message to the Bat for me.”

The guard, so scared he now smelled of piss, nodded quickly.

“Give him this address, and tell him to come alone.”

The Joker, meanwhile, had decided the best way to deal with the pain was to run his mouth. “Who are--that helmet. You’re that new Red Hood ol’ Romy told me about, aren’t you?” 

“Yep.”

The Joker giggled. “What fun! Let me guess, you pissed him off just to get to me? Don’t I feel special.”

“Well, you are the main event tonight.”

“But  _ why,  _ hmm? What could I have done to you to make you go to such  _ drastic  _ measures?”

Jason scowled. “Ethiopia, 2005. Sound familiar?”

The Joker paused, looking lost in thought. “Ethiopia, Ethiopia… I remember I was dealing with a rather nasty piece of work down there, and then…” He grinned slowly, as wide as Jason had ever seen it. “Well, if it isn’t old Robin, back from the dead.”

Jason smirked under his helmet. “Guilty as charged, bitch.”

“You know, Roman wants me to kill you! I should let him know he’s a few years too late to get that little request fulfilled.”

“It’s not going to happen again.”

“So what  _ does  _ happen, Robin? You’ve got me all trussed up like a Christmas turkey here! Who are you waiting for?”

Never let it be said that Batman doesn’t have impeccable timing. He chose that exact moment to burst in through the closest window, raining shards of glass down on Jason and his quarry.

Faster than he could blink, Jason had a pistol out and pointed at the Joker’s head. “Don’t move, or I shoot.”

The Joker laughed. “Oh, isn’t this fun! Let me guess, it’s you or me?”

The former Dynamic Duo ignored him. “Jason,” Batman said, “you don’t have to do this.”

This time it was Jason’s turn to laugh. With one hand, he deactivated the helmet and let it fall to the floor, so he could look Bruce in the eye, or at least, in the whites of his cowl lenses. “Don’t I?  _ You  _ wouldn’t avenge me. I was your son!” he shouted. “Why wouldn’t you?” he continued, softer.

Bruce stared at him, his eyes hard. “You know why, Jason. That is a line that I, that  _ we,  _ should never cross.”

“He’s killed  _ so many people.  _ So many innocent people, kids, even forgetting what he did to Batgirl, after what he did to  _ me…  _ you still couldn’t do it?” Jason snarled. “He took me away from you! And you still couldn’t do it?”

“Jason. That isn’t it. He…” Batman spared a look at he Joker, who was watching them excitedly like they were an especially thrilling ping-pong match. “I could have killed him a hundred times. Not a day goes by where I don’t think about it. It would be more than easy, it would be...thoughtless.” He collected himself. “But I refuse to let myself do it. There are places I cannot go, and that is one of them.”

Jason sneered. “I’m glad you think it would be easy. Don’t worry, it will be.” He pulled another pistol out from its holster at his hip, dropped it to the ground, and kicked it toward Batman. “I’m gonna give you a choice, B. Him or me. I’ll give you to the count of three, and if you don’t shoot me,  _ I  _ shoot  _ him. _ ”

“Ooh!” the Joker crooned, “what a twist!”

Jason took aim again, watching as Batman just stared at him, not touching the gun. “One.” He removed the safety. “Two…” He put his finger on the trigger. 

Pain sliced into Jason’s throat, and he dropped the gun. He heard screaming--was that from him?--and giggling. He fell to his knees, and then felt something much lighter fall next to him.

“Thanks for the save, Bats! I’ll be seeing you again  _ soon. _ ”

“Jason.” There were hands at Jason’s neck. “Jason, can you hear me?”

“You...you…” Talking was painful. Blood bubbled out of Jason’s mouth in time with his throat. If he wasn’t careful, he would choke on it.

“Jason, I’m sorry. It was the only way I could--”

Despite the pain, Jason laughed. More blood foamed out from between his lips as he did, staining his chin and Bruce’s hands.

“I’m going to take you down to the car and back to the Cave so we can--”

“What are you still doing here?” Jason rasped. “Saving me? Why don’t you go after the person you  _ actually _ care about?”

“Jason, no, I--”

Jason fell from his knees to his side. All he could see were the spots of blood on the floor in front of him, and the distress in Bruce’s face.

Good fucking riddance.

Jason’s senses were going haywire. Bruce was talking to him, begging him to stay awake, but louder than that was the beating of his heart, slowly pushing the blood out of him through his neck and mouth, and the rushing of it in his ears. He smelled the rot of the old apartment, and overwhelmingly iron. His mouth was much the same--any lingering tastes from his last meal were overridden with his own blood, covering his tongue faster than he could choke it out. His hands were not sticky, because he had not bothered to touch his throat to understand what his father had done. 

Bruce pulled the cowl off his head. Tears were streaming from his eyes, blue and red in equal parts. He was still talking, but the noise was fading into static in Jason’s head. Maybe this was it. Maybe--

**Author's Note:**

> yes, that is how it ends  
> :^)  
> come yell at me on tumblr, lydiacatfish.tumblr.com and i won't even try to defend myself!


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